While tugging at the lion against my heart, I nodded and lifted the paper. “Grazie.”
He watched me walk to the door. “I will be by soon to find this great enemy of our Pisolino,” he said. “Also known as ‘nighttime.’”
Of course. Pisolino meant “little nap” in Italian, and nighttime was the time Italians awoke and became lively. Like strikes of lightning across the sky. It made me laugh a little at how corny his comment was about the name as I made my way across the island and found parking in the “downtown” area. When I looked at the basket, and then down at my feet, void of my sidekick, sadness washed over me. That blue Nonna always talked about. Though being inside of a hospital had brought back painful memories and started it.
Would the ghost have them? Painful memories?
I pulled out my notebook and jotted down…incredibly hard past.That was what my writing senses were telling me anyway. I considered this as I decided on an employeetrattoriainstead of thetavola calda. It had both inside and outside dining (akaal fresco). I choseal fresco. It had a great view of the water, and wanting to relax, I ordered a glass of red wine with my dinner. As they say,in Italy do as the…
The color of the wine reminded me of the ruby inside of the lion’s heart. It was the first time the soft glow of sunset had touched it, and it made it seem so real, like my pulse was adding life to it. I pulled out my notebook and pen again and started to write while I waited for my food, not even bothering with theview. Which was saying something. The Mediterranean at sunset was the most spectacular thing I had ever seen.
If it was a bride in the morning, it had become a wife at night. A wanton woman ready to be romanced and find her worth in her man’s world while the rest of the world faded.
Large speakers were suspended on each corner of the old place, and they serenaded me with a moonlit sonata. The busy sounds of a restaurant surrounded me, the delicious smells coming from thecucinaentrancing my stomach,and it all seemed to feed into the romance pouring from my heart. Yet it all disappeared at the same time. All but the music. This was why it took me a moment to realize someone was standing on the opposite side of my table.
Dr. Accolti smiled at me. “You were lost,” he said.
I sat up straighter, closing my notebook and slipping it toward me protectively, my pen marking my page. “Pisolino?”
“Angry but doing well.”
I nodded, breathing out a relieved breath. I had entrusted my wild cat’s well-being into this man’s hands. That wasn’t something I took lightly.
“Is this seat taken?” He nodded to the one he had his hands on.
“No,” I said, but what I really wanted to say wasyes—the ghost is sitting here with me, at this same table, in the chair your hands are on, and you’re interrupting our time.
“Am I welcome to it?” He lifted his eyebrows, giving his face a genial look.
I nodded. He sat, and after he ordered a glass of red wine and his food, he sighed as he gazed at my face. I wasn’t sure what to say.
“I have heard things about you,” he said.
“Me?” That took me by surprise.
He laughed. “You.You are Aria Bella?”
“If not, someone else will be getting the bill for Pisolino’s care.”
He waved this off. “This does not matter.”
“What have you heard about me?”
“You are lost in your own world most of the time. Which is why you did not notice the citrus fruit disappearing as quickly as it did.” He moved back and thanked the waitress who set down his glass of wine. “The men on this island have been put under your romantic spell.”
“What?”
He laughed again. “Tell me you noticed this, how…entranced they are by you.”
I looked to the left and then to the right, like I was lost to this statement, and shook my head.
“This must mean you have not cast a spell on any one man on purpose then?”
“I’m not a witch,” I said.
“Your eyes say differently.”
“Thanks, I guess?”
